


The Game Has Changed

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [5]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Anaheim Ducks, Bromance, Gen, Hockey, NHL, Original Character(s), Raptors, Seattle, Sports, Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raptors' home opener. Meet the whole team!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game Has Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this only took FOREVER to write. I'm decently pleased with the final product, though.
> 
> Jonas Hiller really is the goalie for the Anaheim Ducks and the Dallas Stars really did win the Stanley Cup in 1999. However, I'm pretty sure nobody named Tim Keller was on their roster.

_Three...two...one..._

“Seattle Raptors hockey on ROOTS Sports Northwest,” Wheeler announced while the camera zoomed in on the Seattle skyline, “is brought to you by The Boeing Company. Your Washington State Toyota Dealer. And Starbucks Coffee.”

The camera panned the arena, packed to the gills with red and silver. Raptors hats, T-shirts, and sweatshirts all buzzing with excitement, the disappointment of last season all but forgotten. “Here we are for the Seattle Raptors' home opener, and the back end of their home-and-home with the Anaheim Ducks.”

The shot switched to the two announcers sitting in the booth in their matching yellow ties. “I'm Jake Wheeler here with the august and respectable Dan Obenshain at Seattle's Boeing Arena. Now, Dan,” Wheeler turned to his fellow broadcaster, “the Raptors dropped their last game 2-1 two nights ago.”

“August and respectable, thank you, Jake,” Obenshain said. While Wheeler chuckled the Raptors' color man went on. “Yeah, and William LaJeunesse addressed that after the game. We all know his theory; the best defense is a good offense, and the Raptors didn't exactly get it done on Monday. They allowed Anaheim way too much zone time, they looked sluggish defensively, and really, they're lucky the Ducks only got two goals.”

Jake turned back to the camera. “Thanks, Dan, and now we'll send it down to Kendra Willis at ice level. Kendra?”

.

.

.

Kendra Willis stood beside the rink just this side of freezing in her red sleeveless dress. But hey, fashion was the most important thing, right?

Kendra was the Raptors' sideline reporter and “token female” as she liked to call herself. But Kendra wasn't just another pretty face. Her brother was a hockey player and currently played for the Raptors' ECHL affiliate the Coeur d'Alene Bighorns. Kendra wouldn't call herself a hockey expert by any means, but she knew enough to carry on a conversation and was fairly certain she hadn't been hired solely for her blond hair and million-dollar smile.

“Thanks, Jake,” Kendra said with a smile. “I spoke to Andor Ronningen a little bit ago and he said the Raptors have to stay focused on this game, not think about the one behind them, and that he hopes to help get the offense going.”

Kendra waited while RSN replayed her interview with the Raptors' elder statesman, and when she got the green light she went on:

“The rest of the team echoed that sentiment,” Kendra said. “They want to make sure last game is an outlier, not the standard, and show Anaheim who's boss tonight. Jake?”

.

.

.

“Thanks, Kendra,” Jake said. “We have a very special ceremonial face-off tonight. Donna, Hank Sheridan's oldest daughter, will drop the puck for the ceremonial face-off tonight; it's her 18th birthday.”

The birthday girl exited the tunnel and walked to the end of the carpeting, wearing a smaller and more tailored version of her father's #7 sweater. The public address announcer called for both team captains to step forward. Hank and Ryan Getzlaf, the Ducks' captain, came to the end of the carpet.

The camera zoomed in on Donna, who was holding up a puck with a Raptors logo stamped on it. She smiled for the camera and then handed the puck to the referee.

“The little girl who grew up in this arena, it seems,” Wheeler reminisced. “She was born at the start of her father's rookie year.”

“And many more have followed her,” Obie added. The monitor showed the rest of Hank's family in the stands. “Hank's wife Katie and the rest of the children are all here, except for little Daniel born just a month ago.”

“I spoke to Katie before the game,” Wheeler said. “She told me this is her and Hank's last baby; however I also recall her saying that after their fourth and fifth.”

“I guess, ah...” Obie broke off to laugh a little. “I guess some people just don't need sleep.”

Hank turned away from the face-off and began talking animatedly toward the Raptors' bench.

“Probably telling all the rookies not to look at his little girl,” Obie cracked.

Wheeler chuckled. No rookie who'd come through Seattle in the last few years hadn't gotten Hank Sheridan's Stay-Away-From-My-Daughter(s) speech.

Hank went back to the circle and nodded to the referee and a still giggling Donna. She waited for the respective captains to assume their positions and then dropped the puck to the ice.

.

.

.

“Happy birthday, Miss Sheridan,” Getzlaf said, offering Donna his gloved hand.

Donna shook it. “Thank you, Mr. Getzlaf,” she reciprocated.

Hank smiled as his daughter turned and wrapped her arms around him. “Happy birthday, beautiful.” He kissed her hair. “I love you.

Donna kissed her dad's cheek. “See you after!”

.

.

.

Mikey Palmer stood in the tunnel with the rest of the Raptors while the team waited for the opening night festivities to begin, lined up like elementary school kids ready to perform the school play.

Mikey looked down at his Raptors sweater. Pretty sharp, he had to admit. Deep red with metallic silver panels at the sides, under the sleeves, and across the shoulders. _Kind of like a Starfleet uniform,_ Mikey thought. On the front, a white circle with a black “R” stylized to look like an eagle proclaimed the team's allegiance.

The lights went off in the arena and Mikey ducked to see the video playing on the Jumbo Tron. It was a highlight reel of last season, scrupulously leaving out the Stanley Cup Finals or any of the playoffs at all.

“ _The Game Has Changed,”_ Mikey thought as he noticed the song the production team had chosen. _From_ TRON: Legacy. _Nice._

.

.

.

Sandy almost wanted to wince every time the video showcased one of his saves. _Why didn't I do that in Game 7?_

 _Knock it off,_ he immediately cut off the voice in his head.

 _Julianna could do this,_ Sandy thought, letting himself appreciate the video's production value. She was always playing with Windows Movie Maker on his computer.

.

.

.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, your 2012-2013 Seattle Raptors!”_

Thunderous applause filled the Boeing Arena and LaJeunesse let himself smile a little bit. The perpetual gloom that had surrounded his team since June was beginning to lift. It was a whole new year.

.

.

.

The Raptors settled down and waited for the PA announcer to call their names so they could make their introductions to the fans.

Mikey's ears perked up when he heard the music. _End credits from_ Star Trek _? Oh, it's on now. I'm gonna like it here._ In addition to playing hockey, Mikey Palmer was also a gaming, sci-fi watching, movie-quote-spewing nerd.

.

.

.

“ _Number 10, left wing, Joshua Bernier!”_

“Bernie” pushed himself out of the tunnel and took his spot at the far end of the blue line. He'd been a free agent acquisition from the Anaheim Ducks over the offseason, and now got to face his old team two games in a row. Josh had lit up the Raptors like dynamite in the season series last year, to the point that the Raptors didn't get one win against Anaheim. Sometimes the best way to neutralize your competition was to buy him.

“ _Number 12, right wing, Kris Stefansson!”_

“Stevie” was one of the only players in the NHL from Iceland, although he'd spent most of his 25 years in Quebec to the point that his accent was more French than Icelandic, and he played for Canada in international competition. Kris was still something of a hero in his tiny homeland, though, and made a point to spend offseasons there.

“ _Number 14, center, Ugur Bozkurt!”_

“Boz,” the Canadian son of Turkish immigrants, stood next to Josh. The Raptors had brought him on four seasons ago as a utility forward, someone who could play all three positions equally well. Pat had resisted the idea at first. He believed a guy who played center, left wing and right wing wasn't really good at any of them. _“Like a futon is a lousy couch and a lousy bed, or this damned print-copy-fax machine won't do any of them.”_ But LaJeunesse had persisted and his GM eventually caved. Ugur turned out to be quite necessary when Pete Lochner went down with a knee injury and the team had nobody else to play left wing.

“ _Number 15, center, Ryan Nederlander!”_

“Ned” zoomed out of the tunnel and to the blue line. He was one of just three Americans on Seattle's roster, but since he was from Fairbanks, Alaska it was easy to forget that he was actually an American citizen. He had dark blond hair that looked perpetually unwashed and unbrushed and sported a five o'clock shadow at every hour of the day. Especially with glasses on, he looked more like a professional nerd than a professional athlete.

“ _Number 21, defense, Tim Keller!”_

“Keller,” the redhead from Manitoba who had lost his first name somewhere along the line, took his place next to Ryan. Tim was almost 42 years old and handsome in an untamed, Chuck Norris sort of way. He was also a well-known wise guy and the second oldest player on the Raptors. With Andor deciding to stick around half of Seattle's defense corps was over 40. It had some people calling Andor, Tim, and Hank the Over The Hill Gang. Keller was also the only player on the squad to have won the Stanley Cup, in 1999 with the Dallas Stars.

“ _Number 29, goaltender, Gunnar Norgaard!”_

“Norgie,” the Swedish goalie, pushed off his skates and joined his teammates. If LaJeunesse had to pick one word to describe his backup, he would say “workhorse.” Gunnar was going to be a great starting goalie one of these days, and that day was coming soon. Gunnar had turned 28 over the offseason and LaJeunesse had a feeling if the Raptors didn't offer him the starting job soon, some other team would.

“ _Number 31, center, Hannu Numminen!”_

LaJeunesse's gaze followed the Finnish forward out of the tunnel. “Numie” been called up from Tacoma while Mark Shearer sat out indefinitely with the concussion he'd suffered in Edmonton. Hannu had shuttled back and forth between Tacoma and Seattle since the Raptors acquired him from the Los Angeles Kings' AHL team four years ago. The kid worked hard and had plenty of skill but just didn't have staying power yet.

“ _Number 32, defense, Janko Rybar!”_

The Slovak defenseman nearly tripped as he stepped onto the ice and LaJeunesse bit his lip to keep from laughing. Janko was built like a football player and was a fearsome opponent on the ice. If Janko Rybar put you in the boards you weren't going to forget it. But off the ice he was one of the most humble guys LaJeunesse knew. Janko still always looked somewhat surprised when kids asked him for his autograph.

“ _Number 34, left wing, Michael Palmer!”_

“Mikey” was a live one. He had a reputation as something of a goofball; a 13-year-old in a 31-year-old's body. He played with the pedal to the metal, full speed ahead, with very little concept of moderation or patience. And he wasn't just a wrecking ball; Mikey had also been one of the Washington Capitals' biggest offensive threats last year. But the team's organizational troubles had a frustrated Mikey searching for work elsewhere, and Seattle had sent the Caps two prospects in exchange for him. It was probably best for both parties; Mikey and Washington captain Alexander Ovechkin reportedly didn't get along although neither party would confirm or deny it, and trying to manage two big personalities was more trouble than the Capitals needed.

“ _Number 36, right wing, John Harris!”_

LaJeunesse let a little smile play across his lips as “Jones” took the ice. The 27-year-old had been a Chicago Blackhawks draft pick out of University of Michigan in 2008, but he'd promptly gotten traded to Seattle and until last year never quite found a way to stick at the NHL level. Jones had waited a long time to skate out with the big boys at the home opener.

“ _Number 40, goaltender, Sandy Garneau!”_

LaJeunesse couldn't help remembering finding Sandy in the bathroom after the Raptors had lost everything, sitting with him for what felt like hours while the goalie sobbed his heart out, and then hauling him out of the arena and driving him home. LaJeunesse would be lying if he said he had no worries about his starter. Sandy had seen a sports psychologist over the offseason, and LaJeunesse had a good long talk with his goalie during training camp. But the coach was keeping Sandy on a short leash. Last season had proven just how badly Sandy's mental state could get to him and LaJeunesse was not going to let it happen again.

“ _Number 41, Raptors' alternate captain, defense, Andor Ronningen!”_

The oldest Raptor—indeed, the oldest player in the league—took the ice. LaJeunesse knew a lot of people thought “Ronny” was too old, overpaid (and when in the history of sports had anyone called an athlete underpaid, LaJeunesse wanted to know), and underperforming (again, who had ever accused an athlete of overperforming?).

 _Well in the words of Herb Brooks, “Screw 'em.”_ LaJeunesse knew the big Norwegian had plenty to contribute, or he wouldn't have left him in the lineup.

.

.

.

“ _Number 43, left wing, Ricky Traynor!”_

From up in the press box, Pat watched Ricky skate out of the tunnel. He knew some people were worried about Ricky's ability to stay with the big club. His skills weren't in doubt, but the 19-year-old Saskatchewan native carried only 165 pounds on his 5' 8” frame. He was going to be outmatched in pretty much any hit or fight. But the kid was made of rubber. Nothing got him down. Some things were more important than a player's physical presence.

“ _Number 50, right wing, Stanilsav Cibulka!”_

Ricky's linemate exited the tunnel. Stan was even shorter, but stronger, and everyone in the league knew not to mess with him. Stan's serene, thoughtful demeanor took a hike when he got a hockey stick in his hand.

 _Ned's not that big either,_ Pat thought, referring to Ryan Nederlander, his third line's center. Ned didn't hit six feet, which was now short for professional hockey. _Maybe we could call them the Fun Size Line._

“ _Number 56, center, Zhenya Rusakov!”_

Most people knew that Zhenya and his wife Natalya had quite literally gone to the ends of the earth to adopt their children, and had found themselves embroiled in a Ukrainian legal battle to not split the two siblings among the Rusakovs and another family. But a lot of people overlooked or forgot that Zhenya and Natalya had gone to Kiev in the first place because they lost two children, one to stillbirth and one to crib death. Pat had no idea how Zhenya lived with that grief day in and day out. But it was probably what made him one of the most compassionate guys on the Raptors, and the one of the strongest people Pat knew.

“ _Number 59, defense, Ken Davidson!”_

Pat bit his tongue. “Davy” was 33 years old and had been with the Raptors for three years. He was one of those guys who came with a lot of promise but never seemed able to make good on it wherever he went. It wasn't that he didn't work, or didn't want it. He just never delivered like he should. Ken was now in the final year of his deal, and Pat and Will had decided that if he couldn't step things up by Christmas  Ken would be be trade bait by New Year's. Although nobody talked about it, Pat knew Ken was well aware of this.

“ _Number 65, left wing, Pete Lochner!”_

“Lox” was another homegrown player, in his third season after spending too long in the Raptors' farm system. He still needed plenty of work—Pete was pretty good at most stuff, but he wasn't great at anything yet and had struggled with consistency for a lot of his career, going through stretches where he put up big numbers followed by a few games where he seemed to go to sleep.

“ _Number 67, right wing, Simon Moreau!”_

“Morrie” was, in Pat's opinion, the most overlooked player on Seattle's roster. He didn't draw attention to himself, intentionally or otherwise, but he was a walking example of Wayne Gretzky's quote “A good hockey player plays where the puck is. A great hockey player plays where the puck is going to be.” When analysts and fans dissected the Raptors' efforts three nights a week, Pat knew none of them accused the team of messing up because Simon Moreau made a dumb move.

“ _Number 70, defense, Greger Borgstrom!”_

“Borgs” was another offseason acquisition, a trade from the Nashville Predators. Greger had been anxious to get away from the chronically lackluster Preds, and the Raptors had been happy to give him a chance to shine. Greger had always been a big fish in a little pond in Nashville, a player with talent out the wazoo on a team that wasn't going anywhere.

“ _Number 7, defense, Seattle Raptors captain, Hank Sheridan!”_

The assembled fans had saved their biggest ovation for last, and with good reason. Hank was the longest-tenured Raptor at 18 years and he'd worn the C on his chest for 11 seasons. He was the guy everyone else went to when they needed anything from a hammer to marriage advice. Hank ran the dressing room with smooth and gentle precision, managing strong personalities with patience that seemed to know no end. The 40-year-old had two years remaining on his contract, and Pat knew that either through retirement or trade, he would soon have to contemplate the Raptors without Hank Sheridan.

_And he was almost a lawyer instead of this. Who'd rather practice law than play hockey?_

.

.

.

The cheering in the Boeing Arena died down, and LaJeunesse gave his team an approving nod. He had  a good squad, and they were ready to play some hockey.

.

.

.

With nine minutes exactly remaining in a  scoreless first period, Janko Rybar stood on the right point, his defense partner to his left, and his forwards forming a screen in front of Colorado's goalie. _“Keep the puck in their end and you're not gonna lose a lot of hockey games,”_ Janko's juniors coach always said.

Greger Borgstrom, Janko's new defense partner, intercepted Anaheim's clearing attempt and sent the puck to Janko. Janko sent it to Zhenya, who tried to score, but the goalie knocked the puck away and sent it right up the middle.

 _Oh, no you don't._ Janko made a diving play for the puck, lost his footing, and fell. But he still managed to keep the puck inside the Ducks' blue line.

Janko was just getting to his feet when 18,000 fans cheered and the goal horn went off.

.

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.

“How do you like them apples?!” Wheeler exclaimed from the booth. “Ricky Traynor with his first of the season off this nasty pass from Janko Rybar and the Raptors are ahead 1-0!”

“This...this really is just a sick play,” Obenshain agreed. The monitor brought up the replay. “Rybar kind of overreached there trying to stop this clearing attempt, he falls down--” the camera showed Janko's linebacker-like frame sprawled on the ice “--but he still gets the puck to Zhenya Rusakov, who hands it over to Ricky Traynor, and Traynor just beats Hiller top shelf.”

.

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“Nice work, Rybes,” Gunnar said as Janko made his way back to the bench for a change. “That's twice you've tripped tonight, though.”

Janko stared at the backup goalie. “I didn't think anyone else noticed that,” he said, thinking of how he'd caught his skate on the carpet on his way out of the tunnel earlier.

“Everyone saw that,” Gunnar said with an evil grin. “I'm gonna make sure I have a video clip to play over and over at your retirement party in 10 years.”

Janko gave Gunnar a love tap with his stick and sat down.

.

.

.

Before the first period ended, the Ducks had gone ahead 2-1. The teams had battled through a scoreless second before the Raptors tied it up on a power play five minutes into the third. Seattle ended up winning 15 seconds into overtime.

After the game, LaJeunesse sat in front of the press giving meaningless answers to their questions about his team's performance. Could they have done better? Of course. They could never have let

Anaheim score. They could have gone 2-2 instead of 1-2 on the power play. They could have never given Anaheim any zone time. Really, what kind of questions were these?

“Coach, do you have any update on Mark Shearer?” A small, bookish-looking reporter in the front row asked.

“Not much new,” LaJeunesse reported. “He's been seeing doctors and neurologists and he's getting better, but he got hit pretty hard. It's gonna be awhile before he's playing again.”

.

.

.

Once all the post-game responsibilities were taken care of Hank wandered into the visitors' lounge at the Boeing Arena and found his family, along with assorted Raptors and their families, chowing down on cake and ice cream in celebration of Donna's 18th birthday.

“Hi, Dad!” Ashley chirped from the floor where she sat cross-legged next to Donna.

“Hello, hello, everyone,” Hank greeted.

“Hey, you know what Rybes and I were just saying?” Greger Borgstrom asked Hank without preamble. He placed an arm around Hank's shoulders and pointed to Donna. “If Donna were a boy, you two could be in the NHL together like Gordie and Mark Howe.”

Donna sat up straighter and righted her birthday hat, only to have Zhenya walk behind her and set it askew again. “That would be so cool!”

“Yeah, how's it feel having a kid the same age as some of the guys in Tacoma?” Sandy jabbed from across the room.

Donna fixed her hat again. Zhenya knocked it onto her forehead. Donna turned around looking for the culprit, but Zhenya had busied himself at the cake table.

“Thank you, guys, thank you,” Hank said amidst laughter from the team. “I'll just take my walker and go get some cake now.”

After Hank had gotten a piece of cake—the team had been kind enough to leave their captain a corner piece—he sat on the couch behind his daughters. “Good birthday, honey?” Hank gently poked Donna with his foot.

Donna turned around, grinned, and nodded.

“You really think it would be cool to play in the NHL with your old dad, huh?” Hank asked.

Donna nodded again. “Well...if I were Donald instead of Donna.” She went back to talking with Ashley.

Hank sat back and let his gaze linger on his eldest.

_I must have done a few things right._


End file.
